


Asmodeus

by ElegantSufficiency



Category: Sanctuary (TV), Warehouse 13
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, F/F, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Victorian Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:45:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElegantSufficiency/pseuds/ElegantSufficiency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Doctor Gregory Magnus looked to his daughter with interest. A thin line forming his mouth as the slavey ushered them quietly up the small cottage’s stairs, to where young Mister Charles Wells was deep asleep, locked in fever. </i>
</p><p>  <i>There was a certain shiver in the air, not a coldness or fear, but the rippling affect Doctor Magnus had learnt to mean the beginnings of great change.</i></p><p>The story begins in 1871, Doctor Magnus is twenty-one and Miss Wells is five. When Helena's brother, Charles Wells, is attacked by a strange creature, their father contacts Doctor Gregory Magus (and by default Doctor Helen Magnus) to help aid the strange sickness. However, neither family could predict that such an occurrence would lead to the curiosity that became Helen and Helena over the course of twenty-eight years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As the story is written, tags (and possibly the rating) will be updated accordingly.

 

1.

**1871**

Doctor Gregory Magnus looked to his daughter with interest. A thin line forming his mouth as the slavey ushered them quietly up the small cottage’s stairs, to where young Mister Charles Wells was deep asleep, locked in fever. 

There was a certain shiver in the air, not a coldness or fear, but the rippling affect Doctor Magnus had learnt to mean the beginnings of great change.

The slavey, Charlotte, offered only a curious look to Lady Helen Magnus, glancing over her attire to where Lady Magnus’ hands clasped around a dark medical bag, no doubt carrying supplies that Mister Magnus had been unable to fit inside of his own bag.

It was curious to note that Lady Magnus was not yet married. Perhaps, the young slavey suspected, Mister Magnus had chosen to not marry her off. It was not uncommon for families to keep a spinster at home, though with the suspected wealth the two carried, their clothing richly made and Lady Magnus’ hair had without a doubt been down by a skilled lady’s maid, it seemed unlikely that Mister Magnus would need Lady Magnus to care for him in his growing age.

“Would you please fetch some hot water?” Lady Magnus asked the slavey, her lips smiling gently at the woman. 

“Yes, m’lady,” Charlotte curtsied, making sure her eyes were low and her tongue remained firmly in her mouth. Misses Sarah Wells would not appreciate any rudeness towards either the doctor or his daughter-assistance. No, instead Charlotte would keep her suspicions to herself and perhaps discuss matters only if directly asked by either Mister or Misses Wells. 

For now, she’ll begin by making tea for the guests.

When the door had shut behind the young woman, Helen turned to her father, the previous kindness softening with worry. “Can we help him?” she asked quietly. The boy’s features were gaunt with sickness, his body weakened from brief moments of consciousness where he doubtfully ate many meals. 

“I will do my best.” Gregory paused, taking the bag he’d set down adjacent to the child’s bed and placing it beside himself. Opening it carefully, he reached in and pulled out a series of utensils before smiling at his daughter. Helen’s eyes were already running over the exposed skin of the young boy, studying the laceration running down the boy’s cheek, before moving to examine the abrasions on his hands and arms.

“These wounds should have healed,” she said, moving closer to kneel down beside Mister Wells. “They are new wounds, are they not? Entirely improbably injuries if he’s been locked in an immovable dream fever for the last fortnight.”

Gregory smiled, “You’re quite right, my dear. No doubt in a more lucid state, he attempted to leave the bedroom, possibly feeling a pull to return to his attacker.”

Helen nodded, tongue between her teeth as she ran fingers over the boy’s forehead, brushing his dark hair to the side. “What can we do?” she asked softly. “We can’t let him remain here if he’s just going to walk to his attacker.”

Her father pulled out a needle, smiling at his daughter. “We’ll do our very best, as always.”

Looking from the glass syringe, to the injected medicine her father had placed inside of it. Helen’s face twisted uncomfortably with revelation. “You knew what this sickness was when Mister Wells wrote to you.”

“I did.”

“Then if there’s no need for anything more than a few needles and cleaned wounds, why did you bring me here?” she asked him. Her father was not one to treat her as anything less than his prodigy. He was aware that she had more important work and studies to do than travel across England for a simple cure either one of them could have accomplished on their own.

Gregory straightened Charles Well’s arm, holding the needle carefully as he roused a vein closer to the skin with light finger taps. “I brought you here to help find the abnormal that did this.” Injecting the needle, he observed the boy’s soft discomfort before removing the the tool and placing it away correctly. “You are my only child, Helen. The only person I trust to carry on my work if I should disappear. I would hope that you would help me with this.”

“Disappear?” she echoed. “What in Heaven’s name do you mean by that, father?”

A small sneeze broke the held pause before Gregory could answer his daughter. Blinking, Helen rose from besides Mister Charles Wells and stepped lightly over to where the noise originated from. Boards creaked under the weight of her footsteps as she headed to the end of the small bedroom, parallel to the bedroom door, where an old, cracked wooden wardrobe stood.

Reaching into the pockets of her skirt, she grasped the handle of her lancaster pistol and slowly opened the wardrobe door, revealing not an abnormal but a small girl crouched in front of the door’s large crack. “Good Heaven’s, are you quite alright?” 

The girl gasped, falling back as she stared up at her. Quickly, the defensive expression on Helen’s face melted as she let go of the pistol in her skirts and kneeled down in front of the cowered girl. She was tidily dressed, though her hair was tied back from her face with a simple, blue ribbon. No doubt, this was the youngest and fourth child to the Well’s family.

“Hello,” Helen said, speaking kindly. The young girl however continued to draw her body back into the shadows, holding her knees to her chest. “Helena Wells, I take it?”

Helena nodded, eyes wide and unblinking at her, though she kept her mouth tightly shut. 

“What are you doing in this very dark wardrobe? I do hope to think you have your own bed to sleep in.”

“I do…” she replied softly. At the small words, Helen moved closer, looking over the sparse clothes, darned regularly it appeared, and most probably shared often between the three brothers. Possibly even some clothes originating from their father’s wardrobe.

“So this is not your room, then?”

“No,” young Helena giggled before quickly biting down on her lip at the outburst. 

“Which means you were spying on us, were you?” Helen Magnus asked softly. “It’s all right, I used to spy behind the curtains in my home. My governor was very displeased with me for such actions.”

“Why?” she asked her.

Helen’s smiled widened mischievously, “Supposedly, ladies are not to know particular information until we are told by our fathers. It’s all a bit silly, if you ask me. I like to know what’s going on, especially if it is about those I care for.”

Behind them, Gregory moved awkwardly at the comment, coughing to clear his throat. 

“Was that why you were spying on us, Helena?”

A faint blush ran over the girl’s cheeks as she fidgeted beneath Helen’s eyes. “I was worried,” she confessed. “Father said you might not help him.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry any longer.” Helen reached out a hand, offering it to the young girl. “Would you like to see your brother, now?”

Looking from the hand to the smile offered to her, Helena allowed herself only a brief hesitation before nodding and taking the warm touch in her own. Quietly, she climbed out of her brother’s wardrobe and allowed herself to be walked over to where her brother remained sick in bed, his eyes occasionally flicking beneath closed lids. 

“This is my father,” Helen said, nodding to Gregory Magnus as young Helena climbed up to sit by her sibling. “He was the one to give the medicine to help your brother.”

“But he’s still sick!” Helena said looking up at the man angrily, “You didn’t fix him!”

“It will take time,” Gregory replied softly. Helena’s jaw only tightened, glaring at him before she dropped her gaze hopelessly looked down to look at her older brother. Sweat dampened his forehead, his body giving the odd shiver.

“When?” she demanded. “When will he be better?” 

“Medicine never works right away. I’m sure your mother had made you drink medicine that doesn’t taste very nice. It isn’t instant, but you do feel better later, do you not?” 

Looking up, Helen’s brow furrowed before she nodded softly. “You promise he’ll be okay?”

“It will take more needles and some time before your brother is back to health,” Gregory answered, chuckling lightly at the girl’s charming worries, “By then, he’ll be teasing you as normal.”

“He doesn’t tease me,” Helena defended. “Not like Frank or Fred! They’re horrible to me. They said that Charles was going to die, because of your medicine. That’s not true, right? Medicine doesn’t kill people.” 

Helen looked to her father, eyeing him thoughtfully before she sat herself down beside the girl. Quietly, her father packed up his things and left to have a word with the slavery, knowing better than to comfort a distraught child when Helen was much better suited.

“Where are your other brothers?” Helen asked once the door had shut behind her father. Reaching into her sleeve, she pulled out a handkerchief and cleaned Helena’s face gently, “Do they work, perhaps?”

Helena flushed, her small hands clutching tightly to her brother’s fingers as she pulled away from the silk cloth. Without another word, Helen placed the handkerchief back away. “They’re at school. Both mother and father are working. So we can pay you for the medicine. I was…”

“To be at school as well?”

“To look after my brother.” Helen blinked at the answer, before quickly glancing around the room. It was clean, though cluttered with three beds to one wall and the wardrobe to side, next to the furthest bed. However a small doll on the bedside table and a set of blankets and pillows tossed carelessly in the corner had Helen suspecting that the young girl had been keeping close to her older brother through the nights.

“Looking after your brother is big task for a young girl.”

“I’m five,” she replied matter-of-factly, frowning at Helen. “Charles is teaching me how to read and to do maths. He says that I’ll be a better lady. So he has to get better. He promised.”

Helen smiled bittersweetly, her fingers lifting to run through Helena’s dark tresses comfortingly. She didn’t know what it was like to see a sibling fall sick, but she’d watched her mother slip away from her. “What does he make you read?”

“Letters, sometimes. I can’t read much. Can you read?”

“I can. Quite well, I like to think.”

“Are you married then?”

“No...I am not,” she smiled softly at the confused expression. “I don’t wish to marry, you see. I’d much rather study and read books.”

“What do you study?”

“I’m a physician. I save people as my father is saving your brother, here.” Her lips pursed momentarily, “when people allow me to,” she added under her breath.

“Are ladies allowed to be doctors?” Helena asked her.

“Do you think I’m lying?” she teased.

Helena tilted her head, frowning. “Fred said I would be a spinster.”

“Nonsense. If you wish to marry than you shall. It’s all relative, anyway. You can’t see the future so all you should do is try to live your life the way you wish.”

“But what if others don’t like you living your life the way you do?”

“Well,” she paused, thinking on how to reply. “I don’t see why that should matter. In my experience a lady can do anything she pleases if she stops listening to others tell her _don’t_. People say all matters of things that they believe are true, simply because they are told so. I should think that instead of listening to people tell you to be someone you’re not, you should be aware of your own abilities and prove to those who can not see them, that they are wrong.”

A smile broke over Helena’s features, her body stretching to look into Helen’s eyes, “Truly?” she asked.

“Oh yes. I bet you’re twice as smart as your brothers.”

The smile broke away and Helena frowned, looking back to her brother, “Not Charles,” she said. “He’s the best in his class.”

“Are you sure? Was he this clever when he was only just five?”

Helena paused, a breath drawing in as she tried to think back on what people had said about her brother. “I don’t know.”

“I bet he wasn’t.” Smiling she lifted a hand and brushed down Helena’s cheek softly, “Shall I see how the medicine is working?” she offered.

Helena swallowed, nodding. Quietly she watched Helen pull away and reach into her bag, pulling out a strange device. Metal buds came in a half loop, connecting the bell of the device by a flexible tube. Helen placed two pieces into her ear, before placing the bell over Charles Well’s heart. Quietly she moved it to the other side, her brow furrowed in thought.

“What are you doing?” Helena asked her.

“I’m listening to your brother’s breathing. Would you like to?”

Helena nodded and watched as the object was placed into her own ears. Her hand then placed onto the other piece, over her brother’s chest and watched as Helen placed her warm hand on top and directed the device over to where Charles heart was. Strong, slow beating filled her ears. Dumbfounded, she turned and gasped, looking up at Helen.

“Is that his heart?” she asked. 

“Yes.”

“How does it work?”

Helen smiled, “it’s a stethoscope, this way I can listen to his heart, and to his breathing.” She moved the bell again, over his chest. “Do you hear him draw a breath? There’s a crackling sound to it that should not be there. As the medicine works, the crackling will go away and he’ll breathe easier.”

“And then he’ll get better?”

“If everything works according to plan, yes.” She removed the stethoscope, placing it back into her bag carefully before snapping it shut. “You’ll have to look after him. Make sure he receives enough rest even if he says he doesn’t need it. When he wakes, he will have to eat more to retrieve his strength, drink fluids. Usual things the apothecary probably tells you.” Rising, she straightened her skirts before lifting her medical bag into her hands.

“Are you leaving?” Helena asked softly. 

“I will soon. Your brother was attacked by something that made him sick, my father and I shall attempt to stop it from hurting anyone else.”

“Will you kill it, then?” 

“No,” Helen replied. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

Helen took a breath, steading herself from the sharp comment. No doubt, all that ran through Helena’s mind was protecting her brother. “Sometimes,” she tried to explain, “when you’re hurt, you say things you don’t mean. Or you hurt others because you’re scared. The abnormal that did this may have been afraid and was only protecting its self, if you hurt someone by accident, you would want to apologies, wouldn’t you?”

Helena shook her head, “he hurt my brother.”

“He did. And he will have justice for that, but your brother will live. It’s not fair to kill someone for an accident, is it?”

“No…” she bit her lip, blinking down at her feet, “How do you know it was an accident?”

“We don’t,” she replied honestly, “but if the creature is dangerous, we will lock it away so it won’t hurt anyone ever again. I promise.”

Helena’s jaw tightened, her eyes looking to her brother. For a moment, Helen was sure the girl would drop out the window the moment they left, to look for the monster herself. She couldn’t imagine such anger that was boiling inside of her, but she knew the consequences of the rage would be fatal.

“Will you take care of your brother while we leave?” she asked.

“Yes,” Helena replied. Looking up at Helen, she nodded her head. 

“Do you know where your brother was attacked?”

“Down by the river. He was playing hide and seek with Fred and Frank. They found him in pain by the river and got father. When he didn’t get better, father wrote to you.” Helen nodded, reaching out to grab the girl’s shoulder.

“We will do our best.”

“Yes, mistress,” Helena replied, keeping her eyes to floor. “There’s only a few hours of daylight left. You should leave.”

“I will. We will return this evening to explain everything to your father.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon searching for the abnormal, Doctor Helen Magnus believes something is amiss with Helena's story.

 

2.

 

The stagecoach rocked over the road uncomfortably, awkwardly bumping the notes she had in grip. “If it is a troglobite-creature, then what was it doing by the river? Coming out into broad daylight wouldn’t be sensible,” she questioned. “No doubt the creature would be sensitive to ultra violet rays.”

“Perhaps its home was damaged. Or, maybe the Wells children were playing beside the mouth of a cave?”

Helen shook her head, her mind returning to Helena Well’s sharp expression. Even after speaking with the slavey to ensure young Miss Wells would be kept under guard, worry perched high against her abdomen. “Are you sure there are caves nearby the river?”

“I don’t know, my dear. I have yet to visit this section of the River Thames in my travels.”

Helen’s lip pressed in a fine line, her fingers carefully rifling through notes. It was best if she kept her mind focused on the task at hand. She could return to the Wells' cottage at a later date and check in on the youngest Wells sibling herself, but for now she was to busy herself with all information possible on the creature. “The creatures are not large, I take it.”

“The _phagnuch_ are no bigger than a hare.”

Surprised, she looked up at her father, “You’ve named it?” It wasn't that it was rare for her fathr to name a creature, just that he rarely found himself in the position to name such an abnormal, prefering to learn everything and anything he could about those already discovered by scientists and men before him.

“No, the discoverer of the abnormal, a young Gustaf Aberg in 1704, named it after observing it eat the spinal cord of a calf.”

“So he used both a Greek _and_ Latin root words for such a name?” 

Gregory drew his eyes away, dismissing the comment, “We must be mindful of their claws. A single, powerful attack could result in delirium. Not to mention that a female’s bite causes temporary paralysis within moments after attack.”

“Then you suggest we keep a distance at all times?” 

“Quite so.” 

The papers settled in her hands as she sat back in the seat. An uncomfortable beat pulling inside of her from her father's description. Already her dress and corset had begun to feel too-tight. “Only in the countryside do we come across creatures that requires myself to run through mud with layers of skirts,” Helen sighed, a smile quirking to her lips. “I could affront my very sex’s fashion attire if I weren’t so fond of it.” She wished her father had told her of what he knew. She would have dressed more appropriately for such travels, regardless of the scandal that could occure if caught in another gender's garments. It would do far better to have more whispered words behind the name Magnus than a sudden death because her legs had tangled heavily in her many skirts.

“I am sure your lady’s maid will appreciate the state of your clothes once we are finished here.”

Helen laughed, Eleanor's horrified shriek filling her ears as she dreamed of her seeing the state of her hemline caked in mud. “She’s quite fond of this dress,” Helen said, looking down at the navy blue material. “I do believe she hoped that I would give it to her once I had tired of it.”

“Is that why you chose to where it, this day?”

Helen gasped at her father, clutching her chest with dramatic flare. “Perish the thought, I would never be so rude to such a dear friend!”

“As you say, my lady.” 

Helen smiled, her eyes returning to the countryside as while father sat amused on the opposing seat. “I did not think I would be hunting this evening. If you recall, I had thought we were traveling to Bromley in search of a cure for a young boy’s life. However, I should have suspected this alternative as I observed you placing the crates here.”

Her father laughed watching as she tilted her head just so, to look from the corner of her eye. “It’s unlike you to fail with such conclusions.”

“It could be that I’m falling sick with the change of weather. Every other lady in London appears to have caught such a dreadful sickness requiring an immediate masculine attention. Perhaps my spinsterhood will come to a short end.”

“Oh? I do not realise you’d bow befall your greater sex.”

“There’s no such thing,” she quipped, biting back any further scandalous truths.

As they drew closer to the river banks, towards the end of the road, Helen glanced back down to the papers on her lap. A sketch sat at the bottom of the notes, depicting a creature with great ears and long defensive claws evolved to shred through skin and muscle, if one was to believe Darwin’s theory. It’s teeth, however, were made to crunch through the spinal chord, giving the creature a powerful jaw not unlike a crocodile.

“It’s not the most handsome of abnormals,” Helen spoke, her eyebrows raising, “but I take the phagnuch, as it was so eloquently named, does not intend to attract it’s prey.”

“No, it remains in the shadows, using surprise to hunt effectively. Usually it picks off small creatures from their herd. No doubt, young Mister Wells frightened the creature, resulting in it lashing out.”

Helen hummed, unconvinced that there was not more to the story. A creature with great hearing, out of its natural habitat, in an open area where Charles Wells just _happened_ to stumble across it? No, the evidence didn’t result with that given answer. 

Looking to her father, she spoke of her theory, “I believe Helena is lying, or was to lied to by her brothers, about where they were attacked.”

“It’s entirely possible, however, so far this is our only lead. We will scavenge the area for any signs of the creature. If, by the evening, we find nothing then we’ll return back to the Well’s cottage and question the brothers.”

Helen nodded, tidying the scraps of papers and placing them back into the suitcase her father had brought. The stagecoach was busied with cases for only a short trip. Empty wooden crates, big enough to rest the creatures inside, most prominently sat on the opposing seat of the stagecoach beside her father. Once filled, they would be strapped in place on the basket of the coach.

“How do you plan for us to capture the creature?”

“Well,” her father smiled. “Most troglobites, as you’re aware, carry a slow metabolism. Combined with their weight I believe that once we find their nest, we can give them this,” he said, patting a secured box underneath his seat. Helen looked at the box. Made of dark wood, metal sealed the edges to keep whatever was inside, very tightly secured. The perimeters of the box however, made her wonder if a larger weapon than her own pistol resided inside.

“And what is that?” 

Proudly, Gregory beamed at his daughter, “A hare carcass!”

“A hare-?” she paused, biting her tongue. “If I may ask, why do you have a carcass of a hare in a box?”

“To catch the creature.”

Only a beat passed as Helen felt a flurry behind her eyes at her father’s answer. “Astounding. I can see how much thought has gone into this elaborate plan.”

Chuckling, Gregory picked up the box, placing it onto his lap. “You sounded just like your mother.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Tilting her head, Helen took a breath, pursing her lips as she waited for her father to explain his plan. The stagecoach continued an arduous rock back and forth over the uneven road, bumping the box on her father’s lap. For a brief moment, she feared the creature might still be a live inside the box, only to _soon_ become a carcass.

But her father would never be so cruel.

“I’ve injected a sedative into the spinal chord. All we have to do is the find the nest of the creature and wait for it to eat. After which, we can easily pick it up and gently place it in a crate. No running through marshes, no caked hemlines. It’s a brilliant plan!”

“I take it this creature is not dreadfully intelligent then?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. It should just smell the food before devouring.”

“I see. Do we have a secondary plan if yours is to...?” 

“Fail.”

“Quite.”

Gregory smiled, “Of course. I brought nets and the blowgun with us.”

Helen hummed, eyebrows raising as she looked around the area. She hadn’t seen her father pack the weapon, nor the darts to go with it. There was, as always, the issue that each creature’s biology reacted differently to the developed paralysing agents her father, and lately herself, had developed.

Belladonna worked like a charm on some, killed others and had no effect on creatures similarly related to cattle or rabbits. Horse-chestnut was entirely unreliable as it only occasionally resulted paralysis. And a particular mix of different items that Helen had crafted herself, required particularly hard-to-find items that she constantly was importing from Africa, India and a small island off the coast of America. It was entirely impractical.

There was no singular drug for all abnormals, no matter how they searched. Though her father often spoke of theoretical cultures that may have access to paralysing poisons from indigenous plants that had yet to be discovered by european settlements.

The sedative they carried, however, required them to be up close to the creatures, due to the amount needed for injection. Usually her father carried a bag with previously prepared syringes and once paralysed or captured in a net, her father or herself would run to a bag and quickly grab a syringe.

The risks were high, to say the least. Though it was nothing her father and herself had not faced before.

The coach eventually came to a stop, and once her father had helped her self out, they were travelling by foot, down a much-trodden path towards the riverbanks. Behind them, they left Mister Daniel Kingswood, their driver, to quietly read as he kept an eye out for any sign of suspicious activity.

Fresh air passed over them, whipping loose strands of hair from her tightly styled chignon. It was with regret Helen found herself unappreciative of a rare mostly-blue skied day. Her mind stuck with worry for both the creature and possible next-victim. They could not allow it to hurt anyone else. Especially if it were to be someone who did not have means to contact her father as Mister Wells had.

She turned, looking back to the coach where both blowgun and nets remained. Gregory and herself would search the area first, making sure that the place _was_ indeed the home of the phagnuch before they began carting around the snares and weapons meant to secure the creature.

“Why would the children travel on foot for an hour to come play by the river?” Helen asked, lifting her skirts with one hand to tread through the mud in front of her father. She would take lead, making sure to mind the sticks and roots.

At least she was wearing sensible shoes.

“Perhaps they were playing with the children from the village nearby, here?” he suggested.

“Perhaps.” Her eyes looked over the trees and grassland. It was a lovely sight, to say the least, but doubtfully one the phagnuch would be found in. “Say that the phagnuch was pushed from its home, where would it be likely to search for a new one?”

“Somewhere dark, another cave. If it was desperate it would look deep in the ground of another animal’s burrow.”

“A rabbit hole, then?”

“Temporary residence, yes.”

Helen peered around the area, splitting from her father’s company as the sun began sinking low to cover more area. They searched for any holes in the ground or nearby caves, anything that might pertain such creature, no doubt it would remain a certain distance away from the river to avoid flooding.

Nothing could be found. No small animals left in shreds with their spines exposed, nor odd claw prints in the dirt where it may have walked. In fact, Helen found nothing that could suggest anything other than a riverbank of usual suspects. No abnormals in any creature, let alone a phagnuch.

The more she searched however, the more she felt a tightness growing inside of her. Helena Well’s face as she asked of their intent to murder the creature flicked over and over, haunting her to no ends until Helen had to stop and clear her mind of the girl entirely. 

Her dress only served to offer more frustration and pain as the layered skirts became trodden in dirt, scratched against brush and caught on any outstanding branch nearby. It seemed to her that if there was anything organic nearby, one of the skirts had to catch on it in some way or another.

Gritting her teeth before she ended up cursing with her father’s fowl language, Helen pulled herself into a more wide-open area and awaited her father’s return, looking there for any signs of where the children may have played, or a hole for the phagnuch to dwell in.

If it _had_ stolen a home, there was no doubt that the previous residence would be left rotting inside, their spine in pieces and shred inside their once-home instead of outside where it would have hunted.

A part of Helen pained at the idea of a defenceless creature, such as a rabbit, been eaten in such a way. But she knew better than most how much the world required order and a specific food chain to keep balance. A phagnuch was simply a part of this bloodied order.

“Did you find anything?”

Helen gasped, sharply turning in the damp ground only to see her father. Relaxing, she dropped her hands by her side and smiled against the growing flush in her cheeks. “There was nothing,” she stated. “It would have been silly for the children to play here. Perhaps there is a more open area further along the banks.”

“Perhaps, but that was not the path given to us by Miss Wells.”

Helen sighed, turning her head away from the sun. Over the distance it had begun to set, casting a golden hue to the river’s water. She’d barely noticed the lost blue sky. “Then we shall return to their home and ask again. If she’s to give another fable, I shall tell her mother so she may be scolded accordingly.”

“She’s only protecting her siblings, I would do the same for my brother,” Gregory spoke, glancing worried as his daughter began to climb the terrain back to their coach.

“Perhaps she should think to save her other brother instead. Or innocents she’s tricked by misleading us.” Helen paused then, frustration seeping away from her limbs as young Helena’s face, once more, came to mind. “Stupid girl,” she uttered, horrified as she looked back at her father.

“Sorry?”

Helen’s pace quickened, lifting her skirts in a most unladylike fashion to run towards the coach, “We must be fast, father. I believe she’s put her life in danger.”

“How so?”

“Daniel!” Helen called. Her shoes slid, in the mud but never did she let herself fall as she ran to the man, “Daniel, quick! You must take us back to the Well’s cottage.”

Before her father could help her into the stagecoach, Helen had thrown herself in, dirt and mud on her shoes slippering the once clean floor. Quickly she held out a hand, helping her father inside before closing the door tightly behind her.

Once the sound of the wood resonated, Mister Kingswood readied the horses, driving them much faster, back to Bromley without a word to either of the Doctor Magnus occupants. 

“Should I ask why you have familiarised yourself with our driver?” her father question.

Helen’s mouth formed a straight line, glaring outside to the passing scenery sickly as the bumps became higher with speed, “another time, you may.”

The trip served to be a short one, leaving Helen in knots as she thought over a plan. They had to be fast. She knew the girl already had set out with a plan, but to what and where?

Her father sat opposite, his hands clasped in his lap as he thought over alternatives that could come to pass. Most importantly, he hoped to save both creature and girl. But either one was equally deserving of life in his mind.

They barely made it into Bromley-town when the coach was stopped. Gregory cursed, opening the doors to see the problem only to have one of the young Wells run to them, the very picture of the younger brother. “She’s gone!” he cried out, rushing to hold the doorway open and glance uncommonly between the two occupants.

“Where?” 

Huffing for breath, he pointed a straight arm towards the path leading back out out of the town. “Chislehurst. There are abandoned mines there, the path will lead you straight there!”

“Is that where-?”

“Yes!” he said. “Yes. Let me come.”

“I’m afraid not,” Helen answered before her father could. Prying the man’s fingers from the coach, she smiled sweetly as she informed it, “it’s far too dangerous and we do not carry enough medicine for you all if you too are to be hurt.” The lie was said so sweetly that the middle son nodded, pulling away to let the door close.

Immediately the coach started off again, allowing Helen to sit back down and look to her father. “We wont be able to use the carcass if Helena has found the mines. It might be best if we ready the guns. Incase we can not sedate them in time.”

Her expression held fiercely, observing her father’s face. “We could still have time.”

“We may,” she agreed. “But I will not risk a child’s life of mays and may nots.”

“Nor would I.”

Helen paused, taking a breath to steady the growing ache inside of her. “I did not mean to imply you would. I only meant that I’m afraid.”

Her father nodded, reaching out to cover her hands. “We can only do our very best.”

“I know, father,” she said, but the comforted words only set to agitate her further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some notes
> 
> Phagnuch from _phag_ (eat, as in sarco _phag_ us, _phag_ ocyte) and _nuch_ (back of neck, _nuch_ al cord)
> 
> Also you may have noticed a tiny nod to Legend of the Seeker; Zedd: "You must never speak your mind on any subject but always defer to the opinion of your masculine betters."
> 
> Cara: "There's no such thing."
> 
> and thank you to my narwhal, who keeps me steady when I begin to have doubts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stubbornly, Helena Wells seeks revenge, only to be outsmarted.

3.

 

The old mines were long and endless. Helena squeezed her eyes shut, her tiny fists clutching the weapon tight enough to blister. Her father was off playing cricket today. A job that, though unsteady, earned him more than the little shop at the front of their cottage ever could in a good month. Her mother, however, had been peddling around the town, selling flowers the best she could.

They didn’t know. Her brothers had lied about the river, but _she_ had known. She had followed her older siblings to the cave, and not for the first time. Even when they had pushed her away, yelling and teasing to make her return home, she kept following.

Once they had entered the mines, she’d turned back. It wasn’t that she was afraid of the dark. It got dark every night, but every morning the sun came back up. Darkness wasn’t something to be afraid of. But there had been _noises_ in the dark. Noises her brother didn’t make, and without them there, she’d been too afraid that a dragon might eat her for being the littlest.

Her brothers weren’t afraid. They had each other, and in turn, they liked the mines. The caves were dark and creepy and filled with scary shadows. Charles was afraid of them, sometimes even her older brothers were, but that was part of the fun. Scaring each other, looking for lost treasures.

But there were no treasures to be found here. Nor would her brothers be lurking around, ready to jump out and scare her. There was only her, the darkness and the monster.

With her father’s spare cricket bat clutched in her grip, Helena edged forward, breath slow and unsteady as she delved deeper into the shadows. Light seemed to flicker over her dress a last time before the hollow mines swallowed her. Then, there was nothing but the dank smell of a cave and numbing shadows. 

Her brothers had came here looking for treasure; gold or diamonds the miners may have left behind in the rocks. But it was a stupid plan. Her father had told them that these mines had been used for chalk and flint. She knew there was nothing of worth to be found.

Helena gasped. A hurried, scratching sound echoed the mines and her heart leapt as the noise scurried around, coming from all directions and closing in. Helena clenched her muscles, shuddering as she felt the cricket bat pinch tighter in her grip while she held her breath. 

Her eyes flashed around, looking for movement in darkness as she waited. And waited. And waited until the noise passed.

Only then did she breath, her eyes squeezing shut again to calm her tightly coiled nerves. It felt like a scream was building up under her throat, waiting for an attack to get released. It was just a hard sensation in her throat for now, but she feared what sound would come out when she let go of it.

The monster might eat her, she realised. It hadn’t occurred to her before but now, in the mines, she realised that it had probably tried to eat her brother.

She couldn’t leave. Wouldn’t run. She _would_ do this. She would. She would! She had to.

The cricket bat dragged against rock, scuffing loose stones down the caves as each step held her heart, the beat releasing only when her heel hit ground. 

Helena blinked, absorbing the darkness as she listened carefully for the scratch. Or a scuffle. Her breath hitched at the smallest sound, aware that smaller creatures, such as rats, probably too crawled around here.

An insect crawled up her shoe and onto her leg with furry legs. The hair on her leg prickled with the movement before Helena, knocking whatever the creature was, from her as she slammed the bat onto her leg. Pain instantly shuddered from her leg through to her teeth, thundering through her until she bent over and clutched the blunt wound with one hand.

Her brother’s profanity sat on her tongue, unsaid and spoken only in her mind as her eyes watered with pain.

When nothing but silence followed, Helena frowned at her cowardice, upset as she rubbed where the cricket bat had hit her leg. She’d have a big yellow and purple bruise tomorrow. Something, no doubt, her mother would scold her for.

Glaring at the darkness, she pushed on, walking further into the cave as she dug back into her anger. It seemed to ease her fear, sliding over it like treacle.

Her grip loosened and tightened over the bat, slicked with sweat. Swallowing dust in her mouth, she looked down at the weapon as though it was teddy bear she put in Charles arms every night. Her father had taught them all to play and though her mother hadn’t approved of her playing at first, she’d lost the argument quickly when Helena found stubborn joy in the game.

She wasn’t good, her body too small to properly hit a ball like Fred or Frank could, but she figured now that if she swung the bat hard enough it would hurt the monster badly. Bad enough to kill. And she wanted that. She wanted it to hurt like her brother did. She’d been dreaming of it for days since her brothers had admitted to her that Charles hadn’t fallen over. That they’d seen the creature.

Helena’s mind was etched with a mental picture of a rabbit without fur, skin over where eyes should be. It’d been a nightmare, hideous, though her father would never believe such a creature could exist. They never told him, and instead claimed they’d never seen what had attacked their brother.

It was better to lie than to lose their father’s respect.

Helena could laugh. Because not long after they’d admitted the truth, the woman, the doctor, had appeared. She and her father had known what caused the attack. She promised to capture it! 

Helena’s stomach turned at the idea. What would _they_ do with it? Put it in a zoo? Feed it as her mother fed the stray cats wandering their yard?

No. She wouldn’t allow it. Couldn’t.

The scratches came again. Hurried and closer, Helena swirled, swinging the bat in a circle only to have her feet tangle. Gasping, she twirled and fell, the bat twisting in her grip before it slipped away, clattering to the ground moments before she landed loudly on the stone, her head hitting the jagged mine-wall, hard.

A shriek pierced the air, not from herself but nearby as she blindly clutched at her head. It blossomed painfully at the touch, hurting more than the bat had on her leg. Bloody hell, it hurt a lot, enough that tears wet her eyelashes and her chin threateningly wobbled. Gasping she sat up, clutching her head even as it wet her hands.

She wanted to cry and run to daddy, but she wouldn’t. She had a job to do. Swallowing the cries and feelings until they were just jagged stone in her throat, she reached out, crawling on the ground to find her weapon.

With it in hand, her fingers wrapping around the hilt before pushing herself back onto her feet. Determined, she huffed out a breath, wiping her face with the back of her hand and arm as she sniffed away any more tears. She was a big girl. She was five and smarter than her brothers and she was going to make sure nobody ever got hurt again by the stupid ugly rabbit-monster.

She was going to bash its head in and she was going to make it hurt. Then nobody will ever get hurt again and her parents won’t fret at night over medicine-money.

She swung the bat wildly around, unable to see if the thing was close. She hadn’t seen it before, but she heard it. The shriek closer than the scratching sound.

“Come out you coward!” she shouted, her words mimicking Fred’s. “Come out and face me!” Nothing came. No noise, no shriek, no scratches. Only the quiet sound of a distance drip falling into a puddle.

Angrily she stomped down the mines, determined to find the creature. Her jaw aching as she bit down on her tongue to stop from tripping. Dully, she could feel wet pain on the back of her head, oozing down her neck and making her dizzy and tired. Defiantly, she marched on, ignoring it. Fred had walked home with a fractured rib once when he was seven, she could ignore a headache.

Helena swallowed, tasting the sour air. A pungent odour had begun to waft from deeper shadows, watering her eyes as she stepped closer. The ground beneath her shoes had become wet and dampened the socks where water slipped through holes in the heel. The cricket bat, too, sounded as though it was dragging through ash rather than cold dirt and rock.

In the dank, hollowness, Helena feared that the earth would give way and she would be eaten whole. A shiver ran down her spine and catching her breath, she turned sharply at a noise.

Her body stopped and she clutched both hands onto the bat’s hilt. She could feel something near her legs, moving against her skirt. Her skin prickled before she twisted, swinging the bat wildly only to hit the edge of her target.

The impact jolted her limps, throwing the weapon away from her as she fell backwards onto the ground, knocking the wind from her lungs. Heaving, she gasped up, eyes wide and unblinking as a wet suckling noise filled her ears.

Distantly a light danced in her vision, golden and glowing before she saw a flash of the creature.

A shriek came out of its mouth, claws reaching back before she tried to roll away. 

The hit struck, slashing over her dress, slicing through layers of material easily before it tore through her skin. Helena screamed, arching as tried to crawl away. Her arms shuddered and gave in, dropping her defencelessly as the monster slashed again.

It tore down her side, deeper cuts that burned so painfully her whole body went numb in shock, her throat gasping to breath as she became clogged with pain.

Her throat broke with a cry, leaving her to drop to the ground, head dizzy with pain and tilting the world impossibly. The creature didn’t attack again so quickly. Instead moving around to leave her gasping in damp dirt, grit against her dry lips as her face pressed into the ground.

Whimpering, she tried to move, only to cry out as pain struck through her. Helena muffled the noise, lifting her hand to bury it under her face as she sniffled back the pain, squeezing her eyes shut.

She could hear pounding, her heart pounding and pounding closer as claws began scratching near her. Stretching, she bit down on her arm to muffle the fearful cry as she tilted her head. In the corner of her eye, she saw the creature in the darkness. Light flashed against its claws again, it’s eyes peeled with skin and blind as teeth bared down at her. She watched it pull back on its hind legs, snarling in warning as it-

A sound ricocheted, thundering the walls. The creature shrieked wildly again, running as it hid from the light. The lamp dropped to the ground with a metallic clash and the pounding closed in on Helena. 

Woozily, she felt movement slice over her before warmth pulled her close. There was a soft hum pressed against her chest, curling around her as she was lifted and held in the air.

“I’ve got you,” came the familiar voice, close and pressed to her ear, a hand holding the back of her head as she rested against Doctor Helen Magnus’ dress. “We need to leave-”

“Not if there’s a chance to subdue the animal now,” her father’s voice replied. Helena took a breath, breathing in the sweet smell of perfume from Doctor Magnus. Her head felt light, even with the cold. She just wanted to wrap herself completely in the warmth like a winter blanket, and never move again.

“Father! There’s more of them!”

“I can see that!” 

Helena twisted, the hand on her head pressing tighter to hold her still. From the corner of her eye, she could see movement. A large monster edging closer, almost as tall as her. It stood near the smaller one, with a wider jaw, snarling as they sniffed around the area. One looked away from them, possibly towards where the other Doctor Magnus was, but the largest looked to her, teeth baring in warning.

Helen adjusted her hold on her, clutching the young girl tightly as she waited, her muscles loose and ready. 

The phagnuch lunged and Helen jumped, falling to the ground back-first, Helena still tightly in grip before she pushed herself back onto her feet. Awkwardly, the girl moaned in pain, coughing before a cold shiver went through her.

“Hush, it will be all right,” she whispered, clutching her tighter just as she felt the girl squirm in pain. The girl twisted her head, looking to the creature. Helen could feel a sob beneath her hands, shuddered from the girl. _Damn_.

Blinking, Helen eased out a breath, eyes unmoving as with a sticky hand, she reached into her skirts, grabbing the syringe and waited. They had to be fast.

The creature lunged again, too fast and Helen sidestepped, cursing her skirts profusely as the creature’s hind legs bounced off the wall and landed back in front of her. Too close. Too close. Dammit, why had Helena come here?

“Father?” she called. She was too focused on the task here to know if he’d been hurt. Sudden flash of fear rushed through her as only the sound of snarling could be heard. A crunch and then --

“Quite all right!” He spoke suddenly, “Little bit busy!” Breathing out in relief, Helen relaxed her muscles, ready to dodge when needed. She could hear him huffing for breath and as the creature attacked again, Helen ducked, rolling out of the way. Only a sharp claw slashed through the material of her skirts, missing her skin entirely. 

Perhaps the only time she was thankful for layers in such a situation.

It’s claws were massive and terrifying. The damned thing came up to _over_ her bloody knees, for God’s sake! This was not what the book had described in the least! She was going to murder her father for inaccurate information when they got out of here.

Zigzagging backwards, her eyes followed the creature’s lunges as she edged her self closer towards the entrance. They were a fair distance away, a few hundred metres at least. Making a run for it was risky but...

She was lucky her lamp had remain lit where she’d dropped it on the ground. Her father’s too kept as a beacon nearby himself.

Helena Wells screamed in pain and Helen clutched her closer, torn between causing the girl more pain with dodging the creature, or putting her at risk as she placed her down. It could take minutes to subdue the creatures. She didn’t have time to--

The creature lunged and Helen fell back, hitting her head as she kicked the creature away. Crying out, the phagnuch rolled onto its feet and skulked backwards into the shadows. Good. 

Not good. She’d lost it.

Groping for the syringe, Helen’s eyes danced around the area as she listened for any sign of it. She could here a wet suckling nearby her father, but her own abnormal was decidedly quiet. She though. The acoustics of the cave danced sounds around them, making it difficult to tell. 

Shuddering out an even breath she felt Helena clutch to her dress, a muffled sob still drenching the material. The girl was trying not to cry, but already, Helen could feel the wet blood on her hands, her shoulder soaked. Perhaps it wasn’t just tears on her shoulder.

“Bloody hell.”

“What?” Her father pressed against her back, having too, lost the phagnuch suddenly.

“My syringe is broken,” she sighed. Her eyes darted the area, looking around. “We should move back, get Helena to-”

Helen yelped, falling sideways, hard onto her shoulder as a flashed came over, scraping over her dress before she hit it away with her boot. Again, darkness swallowed the creature. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she pushed onto her feet, moving closer to her father as she looked around. 

“You’re not ‘earing a ‘onnet,” the girl murmured drunkly, lifting a shaking hand to touch a loose strand of blonde hair.

“Nor gloves,” Helen added, frowning. Unnecessary items for such an excursion. 

Forcing herself to keep looking around the shadows as she clutched the girl closer, Helen’s hand curled around the cold, small finger as she placed it back to hold on her shoulder. She could feel blood drying her hands, unsure where the attacks begun and blood just soaked. No doubt, Helena had lost too much already.

Her disorientation could be her body going into shock.

“We’re leaving. Now,” she hissed to her father. 

“I think you’re quite right.” 

She gave a last scan of the area before lifting the girl higher in her arms. Steadying her, Helen gulped in a breath before she turned and made a run for it. Her father’s heavier steps could be heard behind her. Pounding against the wet dirt.

With one hand securing the girl to her, her other lifted her skirts to run. She could hear the creatures again, claws against stone, a shriek-

A masculine cry called behind her and Helen turned sharply, stopping to see her father kick off a creature as it tore through a trouser leg. “Father!”

“Go!” he fired his gun in the darkness, the powder lighting up briefly before darkness suffocated them again. The bullet pierced through an elongated ear, frightening the creature from him before he rolled over. “I told you to go!”

Helen stiffened and turned back around, running again once she heard her father stand back up.

Even as they exited the cave, Helen didn’t stop, her body rushed to their nearby stagecoach, ripping open the door as Daniel dropped down from the coach.

“Helen?” he cried, shocked by the blood covering the woman’s dress. But he only remained frozen, watching as Helen placed the girl down on a seat and began tearing through the medical bags. Realising what needed to be done, she turned to her father and Daniel, “Move.” Quickly, she pushed her father and Daniel out both from the coach, steadying herself to clear her mind. It wouldn’t do to let fear take over her limbs. “Take us back to the Wells.”

The door snapped shut behind her and quickly, Helen turned around. Her mind focusing on everything about the girl. There was a dress hiding the wounds. She had to get rid of that. Pulling out her dagger, she stripped the ruined dress from the girl, listening as Helena offered only mumbled aggression.

“Come now, I have to work,” she settled, pushing the hands back down. Dark irises flashed dully around, barely aware of Helen before she settled back on the seat.

“ _Hurts_.”

“I know, it will be over soon.” 

“Hurrrrr...” her eyes flickered, breathing in a deep gasp as alcohol stung her wound. Helen watched as the brown eyes flicked wildly around, a barely contained cry muffled as she was rolled on her side. 

“This is going to hurt a lot more,” she warned. The girl shuddered before contact hit, then arched, spasming with intense pain. Slowly relaxing Helen’s soft voice soothed her again as the doctor attempted to clean the surrounding blood before doing her very best to stitch the open wounds. 

The pricks of the needle shuddered through with muffled cries and despite the blood loss, Helena remained very much so conscious, rolling onto her stomach, then her side as Doctor Magnus worked deftly on the open wounds, one hand with the needle and thread whilst the other wiped continuously at the blood.

Before she could finish, Helena’s eyes shut, her breathing becoming shallow as she stopped reacting to the prick of the needle. “No, no no. Helena? Helena, come on. You have to stay away awake. Helena?” The girl didn’t reply. Her body limp in Helen’s touch. 

Fearfully, she listened to her chest, making sure that breath still spilt from the woman’s mouth. There was still a heartbeat, her chest still rising and falling, but terror stilled over Helen. She was in shock. Few recovered even under her best medical attention.

Her fingers worked faster, unflinching as she became quick to finish the stitches, uncaring if the stitch was crude or otherwise. Once done, she sat the girl up as she was finally able to bandage her. Reaching into another bag, she pulled out a syringe from a small box her father had prepared for Charles Wells, injecting her in hope that the early treatment may give her a better chance at survival. She was young, healthy before the attack. There was a chance.

There was _always_ a chance.

But after placing the needle away, Helen realised she’d accomplished all she could. Quietly, she pulled out one of her own chemises and placed it on the girl for modesty’s sake, watching the girl’s expression for any sign of awareness. Nothing happened. Nothing that could offer any signs of hope.

Carefully, she rested her back onto the stagecoach’s seat, sitting herself back down onto her knees. Helen could still feel her own heart rapidly beating. Taking a slow breath, she lifted a hand and ran it over the girl’s cheek, brushing dark curls from her face.

She was caked in dirt, but until she was back in her cottage, there was nothing Helen could do for that. She couldn’t do anything but wait. They were at least half an hour away from the village, she wasn’t sure. It all seemed too fast and slow at once. Without something to do, she was left staring at the girl, her heart and stomach clenching with fear.

Her fingers began shaking. Stilling them, she saw how much blood covered her hands. What would people think if they saw?

She let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking her head. What did it matter? Towns already spoke whispers of her. A new scandal would only serve to busy their attention from the truly scandalous events. Such as a child attempting to kill a creature for revenge.

“You are quite impossible,” she scolded softly. 

The girl didn’t shift, her breathing shallow and face pale from the loss of blood. Shakily, Helen reached out again, brushing fingers over the girl’s brow. Maybe the contact will help, maybe-

She was being ridiculous. Her hand pulled back, curling back into her grasp.

The coach was quickly moving to take them back to the cottage, but there was nothing else she could do. Everything rested on Helena Wells.

And if she was as stubborn as Helen hoped, then there was more than a glimmer of hope.

Helen’s hands clutched together, her head bowing as she closed her eyes. Children and abnormal animals seemed to always bury themselves in her heart far easier than her more human patients. They left an ache in her with each passing and brought such melancholy that sometimes, Helen feared that someday she wouldn’t be able to push herself up onto her feet again.

Settling herself on the opposing seat, she looked up at the window above Helena to where her father and the driver sat. She could see the back of their heads, both men quiet as they stared ahead. 

Her father always had a serenity about him, a peace that made even the most tense moments easier. Nothing seemed to frighten or worry him as they did to her. He never seemed afraid of standing back up.

Would his stitches have been as hurried as hers, she wondered. Or would he had been more deft in the movements, faster to stitch and clean the wound with much more precision against the rocking coach? Maybe he could have preserved the blood that Helen allowed to spill on the stagecoach seat and floor.

Breathing out her worries, she settled her hands in her lap and looked down at the mess she’d made of the coach. They would have to clean it before they departed back to the mines, after making sure both Helena and her brother were at their best. The abnormals had to be dealt with first. They could leave the two children in another doctor’s hands until their return.

If they were permitted with such a return. No doubt, Mister and Misses Wells would be distraught with their daughter’s state and would, as many other parents in such position do, deflect their anger onto her father and her self.

Helen turned, looking out the mirror and by chance, catching her reflection. Blood had wiped across her cheek and dried in smeared marks. Dirt too, had rubbed in a bloody paste over her brow and neck. She looked every bit the surgeon and not the physician she practiced to be.

Not that she trusted such surgeons of her time as she did her father or herself. But no matter.

Young Helena’s breath hitched as they bumped along the path. Quietly, Helen stared, wondering if the girl would live to see tomorrow. There didn’t need to be another small grave in the Kent graveyard, but Helen was certainly old enough to recognise that _five_ was the age most kids barely lived to.

She’d had her own friends pass even after that time. Seen her mother…

The rocking drew to a stop and Helen looked up expectantly. Had they arrived already? 

The was a short argument outside, then suddenly, the door of the coach was ripped opened. Even in the last evening light, Helen blinked as Mister Wells went straight for his daughter, lifting her up into his arms without so much as a cry. His face became shocked, then blank as he immediately masked his distraught fears.

“Mister Wells-” she spoke, cutting off as fury forced his head to sharply raise to Helen. His mouth white in how hard he pressed it shut, Mister Wells turned back to Gregory Magnus standing behind him. With a stiff nod, he left, taking his daughter inside his home. 

Helen remained inside the coach, guilt washing over as she remained frozen from the naked fury.

“I’ll speak to him,” her father spoke.

Helen nodded dumbly, looking back down to the coach floor. When her father left, she tilted her head to Daniel and turned back away.

“Let me-”

“No,” she snapped. “It will give me something to do.” Her finger picked up the shredded dress, placing in into a pile with other utensils and materials either broken, no longer usable or saturated in blood. Everything else she tidied up before re-organising the medical kit. Only then did she turn to Daniel who was, already, disposing of the waste.

She couldn’t bring herself to utter her thanks. Instead, he smiled softly at her, reaching out to take one her bloodied hands. “It’ll be quite all right,” he whispered.

Helen shook her head, looking down at where the blood had stained the dark seats. Blinking furiously, she turned her body away, allowing Daniel to finish disposing of the wastes. 

She had a job to do, an abnormal to catch. Perhaps that is all that mattered.


End file.
